Sweet Nothing In My Ear Quotes

[He] has always believed in me. Even when I didn't believe in myself. Even when I was at my worst, he saw only the best in me, and he was determined for me to see it too. Now I know for certain that Mabel was right. There's nothing in the world like having someone love you for who you really are. Looking at your heavy baggage and leaning down to whisper in your ear, You're perfect. ~ Julie Cantrell

It was when they determined that I had been born dead
That my life became easier to understand. For a long time,
I wondered why rooms felt colder when I entered them,
Why nothing I said seemed to stick in anyone's ear,
Frankly, why I never had any money. I wondered
Why the cities I walked through drifted into cloud
Even as I admired their architecture, as I pointed out
The cornerstones marked "1820," "1950." The only songs
I ever loved were filled with scratch, dispatches from
A time when dead ones like me were a dime a dozen.
I spent my life in hotels: some looked like mansions,
Some more like trailer parks, or pathways toward
A future I tried to point to, but how could I point,
With nothing but a hand no hand ever matched,
With fingers that melted into words that no one read.

I rehearsed names that others taught me: Caravaggio,
Robert Brandom, Judith, Amber, Emmanuelle Cat.
I got hungry the way only the dead get hungry,
The hunger that launches a thousand dirty wars,
But I never took part in the wars, because no one lets
A dead man into their covert discussions.
So I drifted from loft to cellar, ageless like a ghost,
And America became my compass, and Europe became
The way that dead folks talk, in short, who cares,
There's nothing to say because nobody listens,
There's no radio for the dead and the pillows seem
Like sand. Let me explain ~ John Beer

I finally let myself think it: he was beautiful. His gray eyes reminded me of the stormy waters of Pitha. When he reached for my cheek, there was a crease along his arm where one wiry muscle met another. His deft, sensitive fingers moved over my cheekbone. His fingernails were stained with yellow powder--from jealousy flowers, I was sure. I was breathless to think of him touching me just because he wanted to.
I sat up, slowly, bringing a hand to the silverskin behind my ear. Soon it would adhere to the nerves in what was left of my scalp, and I would be able to feel it like it was my own skin, though it would never grow hair again. I wondered how I looked now, with a little more than half a head of hair. It didn't really matter.
He wanted to touch me.
"What?" he said. "You're giving me a weird look."
"Nothing," I said. "You just…look nice."
It was a silly thing to say. He was dusty, sweaty, and smeared with my blood. His hair and clothes were mussed. Nice wasn't exactly the word for it, but the other ones I thought of were too much, too soon.
Still, he smiled as if he understood. "You do, too. ~ Veronica Roth

Holy mother of God, that feels good.
"I'm not having sex with you," I say primly and try to inch away from him.
"I didn't invite you to. Stop squirming."
He nuzzles my neck, making my eyes cross, and continues to play my stomach like a freaking guitar. Then he pushes more firmly against me, making me giggle. "Whatever it is that's pressed to my ass disagrees with you."
"That's nothing. Just a flashlight."
I burst out laughing. "Do you carry a flashlight in your pocket often?"
"Mostly just in the morning," he replies seriously and kisses my neck, right under my ear ~ Kristen Proby

I'd never seen him bare-chested. For the first time, he seemed vulnerable to me. His smooth, tight skin wrapped around the long muscles he'd developed over a lifetime of hard work.
He found a shallow spot and sat, settling me onto his lap, holding my back to his chest. I couldn't stop shaking and it had nothing to do with the water or with being half dressed in a cave with a boy.
"Nothing else matters," Henry said in my ear. "I'm here. Start at the beginning. ~ Laura Anderson Kurk

This is…mad…" Anything this wonderful had to be some form of insanity.
"Then I've been mad for twelve years." He tugged at her nipple with his teeth, and she gasped. "Because I imagined this often. Holding you…touching you." He laved her nipple with his tongue as if to soothe it. "I tried not to torture myself, but…it was impossible that I should never indulge in…the fantasy of you like this, in my arms again."
He'd thought of her all these years? And done nothing about it?
"You could have…had me whenever you wanted," she choked out, even as she thrilled to his words. "You just didn't…want me."
"Not true." His breathing labored, he dragged his mouth from her breast to kiss his way back up to her throat. "I couldn't allow myself to want you. There's a difference."
None that she could see. But just now, she could hardly think. One of Dom's hands worked its magic on her breast, his mouth snaked around to cup her derriere and pull her flush against him.
Something hard pressed into her through her skirts. What the devil?
"Jane," he rasped against her lips. "My darling Jane…still mine…"
The possessive note in his voice drove out every other thought. She was losing the fight against him.
Sweet Lord, she couldn't. Mustn't, until she was sure he wouldn't become Dom the Almighty again. Until she was sure he wouldn't trample her into dust, the way he had before when things hadn't been exactly how he wanted them. She couldn't go through that a ~ Sabrina Jeffries

Every day for a week, sitting in my idling car, saying goodbye without saying anything at all - the touch of his hand, his forehead pressed to mine, the way he brushed my hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear. And still, he hadn't kissed me. Not once. Nothing but that brief brush of his lips. I was beginning to go a little crazy. ~ Emme Rollins

Longstreet took a deep breath. In the winter the fever had come to Richmond. In a week they were dead. All within a week, all three. He saw the sweet faces: moment of enormous pain. The thing had pushed him out of his mind, insane, but no one knew it. He had not thought God would do a thing like that ... she kept standing in the door: the boy is dead. And he could not even help her, could say nothing, could not move, could not even take her into his arms. Nothing to give. One strength he did not have. Oh God: my boy is dead. ~ Michael Shaara

Wednesday, November 8th, 1893

Here I sit in the still winter night on the drifting ice-floe, and see only stars above me. Far off I see the threads of life twisting themselves into the intricate web which stretches unbroken from life's sweet morning dawn to the eternal death-stillness of ice. Thought follows thought - you pick the whole to pieces, and it seems so small - but high above all towers one form … Why did you take this voyage? … Could I do otherwise? Can the river arrest its course and run up hill? My plan has come to nothing. That palace of theory which I reared, in pride and self-confidence, high above all silly objections has fallen like a house of cards at the first breath of wind. Build up the most ingenious theories and you may be sure of one thing - that fact will defy them all. Was I so very sure? Yes, at times; but that was self-deception, intoxication. A secret doubt lurked behind all the reasoning. It seemed as though the longer I defended my theory, the nearer I came to doubting it. But no, there is not getting over the evidence of that Siberian drift-wood. But if, after all, we are on the wrong track, what then? Only disappointed human hopes, nothing more. And even if we perish, what will it matter in the endless cycles of eternity? ~ Fridtjof Nansen

You realize that by summoning me here, you signed your own death warrant." Demons were nothing to take lightly. I'd seen what they were capable of, but I also knew they were no match against the light that shone inside me. "I do," it said, and I fought to place the language we were speaking. I knew it was ancient. Possibly the first language ever spoken in the universe. "Unless we sign yours first." "Is that what you think will happen here?" "Dutch," Reyes said into my ear, "stop playing with your dinner. ~ Darynda Jones

Song of myself
Now I will do nothing but listen,
To accrue what I hear into this song, to let sounds contribute toward it.

I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames,
clack of sticks cooking my meals,
I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice,
I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following,
Sounds of the city and sounds out of the city, sounds of the day and night,
Talkative young ones to those that like them, the loud laugh of
work-people at their meals,
The angry base of disjointed friendship, the faint tones of the sick,
The judge with hands tight to the desk, his pallid lips pronouncing
a death-sentence,
The heave'e'yo of stevedores unlading ships by the wharves, the
refrain of the anchor-lifters,
The ring of alarm-bells, the cry of fire, the whirr of swift-streaking
engines and hose-carts with premonitory tinkles and color'd lights,
The steam-whistle, the solid roll of the train of approaching cars,
The slow march play'd at the head of the association marching two and two,
(They go to guard some corpse, the flag-tops are draped with black muslin.)

I hear the violoncello, ('tis the young man's heart's complaint,)
I hear the key'd cornet, it glides quickly in through my ears,
It shakes mad-sweet pangs through my belly and breast.

I hear the chorus, it is a grand oper ~ Walt Whitman

Woman, if you don't already know that you've been on my mind every day for the last six years, I got no clue how to communicate that to you. Now that I've had you, that shit has not changed. It's just got worse." My back straightened and I started glaring. "Worse?" "Worse," he confirmed on a downward jerk of his chin. "Now it's not every day. It's every hour. I don't fight it, every minute. Fuck, every second, I don't keep it in check. Every second, I'm thinkin' of you, thinkin' of gettin' shit done, but only so I can get back to you." That was very, very sweet. I was still pissed. And this was because I got nothing from him, not one thing for a month! "You didn't tell me that, Deacon." "I fuckin' did, Cassidy." "When?" I snapped. He leaned toward me and shot back, "Every moment I was with you. ~ Kristen Ashley

Reason To Smile -

How can one smile such sweet smiles,
When one is so saddened by sorrows for miles,
How can I smile the same smiles,
When life brings me nothing but tears,

I wondered for so long,
What reason you had to smile that long,
To keep smiling though troubles come,
And still remain sweet and silently overcome,

It's such a mystery to me,
Your smiles from heaven with glee,
I adore and yet envy thee,
But I'd rather you smile those at me,

I feel happy when I see you smile,
Even if I'm sad and lonely,
Your smiles bring me somewhere,
I don't even know where,

But it was you,
You gave me the reason to smile,
To smile with no reason,
To smile for a smile,

I guess life is just like that,
We need not a reason to smile,
For a smile is the reason itself,
To rejoice and open-heartedly give thanks,

I learned to smile because of you,
Because your smiles bring me joy when blue,
It proves how well and powerful,
A simple sweet smile can become so beautiful,

Smile for the sake of a smile,
Smile for the sake of happiness,
Smile for the sake of life,
Smile because of hope left in life,

Smile my friends,
Smile for me my Love,
Smile those same sweet smiles,
Smile so the world can be a peaceful dove... ~ Lendl Ian Servillon

No," I hear myself say. "You're not supposed to be here."
She's sitting on my bed. She's leaning back on her elbows, legs outstretched in front of her, crossed at the ankles. And while some part of me understands I must be dreaming, there's another, overwhelmingly dominant part of me that refuses to accept this. Part of me wants to believe she's really here, inches away from me, wearing this short, tight black dress that keeps slipping up her thighs. But everything about her looks different, oddly vibrant; the colors are all wrong. Her lips are a richer, deeper shade of pink; her eyes seem wider, darker. She's wearing shoes I know she'd never wear. And strangest of all: she's smiling at me.
"Hi," she whispers.
It's just one word, but my heart is already racing. I'm inching away from her, stumbling back and nearly slamming my skull against the headboard, when I realize my shoulder is no longer wounded. I look down at myself. My arms are both fully functional. I'm wearing nothing but a white T-shirt and my underwear.
She shifts positions in an instant, propping herself up on her knees before crawling over to me. She climbs onto my lap. She's now straddling my waist. I'm suddenly breathing too fast.
Her lips are at my ear. Her words are so soft. "Kiss me," she says.
"Juliette - "
"I came all the way here." She's still smiling at me. It's a rare smile, the kind she's never honored me with. But somehow, right now, she's mine. She's mine and she's ~ Tahereh Mafi

I thumped her on the back, picked her up and dropped her on top of her dungarees. "Put them pants on," I said, "and be a man." She did, but she cried quietly until I shook her and said gently, "Stop it now. I didn't carry on like that when I was a little girl." I got into my clothes and dumped her into the bow of the canoe and shoved off.
All the way back to the cabin I forced her to play one of our pet games. I would say something - anything - and she would try to say something that rhymed with it. Then it would be her turn. She had an extraordinary rhythmic sense, and an excellent ear.
I started off with "We'll go home and eat our dinners."
"An' Lord have mercy on us sinners," she cried. Then, "Let's see you find a rhyme for 'month'!"
"I bet I'll do it … jutht thith onthe," I replied. "I guess I did it then, by cracky."
"Course you did, but then you're wacky. Top that, mister funny-lookin'!"
I pretended I couldn't, mainly because I couldn't, and she soundly kicked my shin as a penance. By the time we reached the cabin she was her usual self, and I found myself envying the resilience of youth. And she earned my undying respect by saying nothing to Anjy about the afternoon's events, even when Anjy looked us over and said, "Just look at you two filthy kids! What have you been doing - swimming in the bayou?"
"Daddy splashed me," said Patty promptly.
"And you had to splash him back. Why did he splash you?"
" 'Cause I spit mud through ~ Theodore Sturgeon

Well, first of all," he began, "I really…I really like you." He looked into my eyes in a seeming effort to transmit the true meaning of each word straight into my psyche. All muscle tone disappeared from my body.
Marlboro Man was so willing to put himself out there, so unafraid to put forth his true feelings. I simply wasn't used to this. I was used to head games, tactics, apathy, aloofness. When it came to love and romance, I'd developed a rock-solid tolerance for mediocrity. And here, in two short weeks, Marlboro Man had blown it all to kingdom come.
There was nothing mediocre about Marlboro Man.
He had more to say; he didn't even pause to wait for a response. That, in his universe, was what a real man did.
"And…" He hesitated.
I listened. His voice was serious. Focused.
"And I just flat don't want you to leave," he declared, holding me close, resting his chin on my cheek, speaking directly into my ear.
I paused. Took a breath. "Well--" I began.
He interrupted. "I know we've just been doing this for two weeks, and I know you've already made your plans, and I know we don't know what the future holds, but…" He looked at me and cupped my face in his hand, his other hand on my arm.
"I know," I agreed, trying to muster some trite response. "I--"
He broke in again. He had some things to say. "If I didn't have the ranch, it'd be one thing," he said. My pulse quickened. "But I…my life is here."
"I know," I said again. "I wouldn ~ Ree Drummond

I'm sorry I could never see myself out
of the twitching fever of my heartache,
that I traded everything we had for
something that never ended up being.
But if I could take anything back, it wouldn't be
the glittering hope I stuck in the amber of your eyes,
or the sweet eager of our conversations.
No, it would be that last stony path to nothing,
when we both gave up without telling the other.
How silence arrived like a returned valentine
on that morning
we finally taught our phones not to ring. ~ Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz

I just want to let you know that when I look into my future, I see nothing but you." That's what Chaz had whispered in my ear at some point during the wedding last night.
Then he'd whispered. "And you're not even wearing Spanx. ~ Meg Cabot

Did I ever tell you about Asin? She is the wild woman of the woods. It's an old story of the People. My mom used to tell me about Asin. Asin couldn't bear being married or having children or having friends. She always wanted to run wild. She ran wild through the woods. If you saw her running you had to run to water as fast as you could and drink or her restlessness would come into you like a thirst that could never be quenched. She was happy and unhappy. She had wild long hair and she was very tall and she ran like the wind. When you saw dunegrass rippling in a line she was running through it. When the wind changed direction suddenly that was Asin. She was never satisfied or content and so she ran and ran and ran. She would grab men who were fishing alone and make love to them and then throw them down on the ground and run away weeping. She would grab children who wandered too far alone in the woods but she would return them to the same spot after three days and run away again. She would listen to women talking by the fire or working in the village or gathering berries but if they invited her to join them she ran away. You could hear her crying sometimes when the sun went down. She wanted something but she never knew what it was so she had nothing. She was as free as anyone ever could be and she was trapped. When I was young I wanted to be Asin. Many times I wanted to be Asin. So do you, Nora. I know. It's okay. It's alright. My sweet love. Poor Asin. Sometimes I think to be ~ Brian Doyle

You are a bright light, Elli.' His own breath hitches, a sound that I cannot quite grasp. His eyes are darkening, his lips tightening. His hands grasp me tighter and he moves closer, his mouth inches from mine, I can almost taste the sweetness and saltiness of his scent, the rich coffee beans and sugar, the vague spearmint. I say nothing, I'm not even sure I'm breathing.
'You shouldn't have to see such pain, such blackness. You are too pure.'
His lips do not collide with mine, his skin does not brush against me, only his voice sends a shiver down every notch in my spine, trailing goose bumps over my skin. He tilts his head to the side, his lips gently brushing against my ear. And that is all. I'm not good enough for him. I'm not. That's why… that's why…
'Too pure… ~ Charlotte Munro

Sean started the engine and putted through the marina waters, and Adam had the nerve to plop onto the seat across the aisle from me. Sean reached the edge of the idle zone and cranked the boat into top speed. Adam called to me so softly I could barely catch his words over the motor, "Close your legs."
"What for? I waxed!" I looked down to make sure. This was okay now, because Sean was facing the other way and couldn't hear me in the din. Indeed, I was clean. I spread my legs even wider, put my arms on the back of the seat, and generally took up as much room as possible, like a boy. I glanced back over at Adam. "Does it make you uncomfortable for me to sit this way?"
He watched me warily. "Yes."
"May I suggest that this is your problem and not mine?"
He licked his lips and bent toward me. "If it keeps Sean from asking you out, it's going to be your problem, and you're going to make it my problem."
"Speaking of which," I said, crossing my legs like a girl. "Thanks for staying out of my way. How the hell am I supposed to get Sean to ask me out when he's all pissy?"
"You wanted me to lose to him at team calisthenics? That was too sweet to miss."
"You didn't have to win by quite so much, Adam. You knew I needed him in a good mood. You didn't have to rub it in."
Adam grinned. "And you wanted me to stop growing?"
"Do not make a joke about your size. If you can't think of anything to talk about except your large size, please say nothing at ~ Jennifer Echols

In desperate hope I go and search for her in all the corners of my room; I find her not.
My house is small and what once has gone from it can never be regained.
But infinite is thy mansion, my lord, and seeking her I have to come to thy door.
I stand under the golden canopy of thine evening sky and I lift my eager eyes to thy face.
I have come to the brink of eternity from which nothing can vanish
no hope, no happiness, no vision of a face seen through tears.
Oh, dip my emptied life into that ocean, plunge it into the deepest fullness. Let me for once feel that lost sweet touch in the allness of the universe ~ Rabindranath Tagore

Harrison, you're an idiot. An idiot who tries hard, but still."
I'd widened my eyes, questioning.
"You've back-burnered your love life for so long that you have no idea what it actually means to date. Most of the guys you've been with...at least the ones you've let me meet? Shit, they would have loved to have used your home like a luxury hotel. But this Luke guy sounds like he came from nothing, and everything he has, he's fought for."
I nodded. He had.
"You meant well. I know that. But he needs to work. To feel useful. When he lost that, instead of listening to him while he figured things out, you tried to give him a handout he couldn't pay back in a million years. How was that gonna make him feel, honey?"
< But he gave me so much when I needed it.>
She brushed some hair off my forehead in that maternal way she sometimes had. "He was doing his job, Paine. I'm sure he enjoyed it, and it sounds like the connection between you got real, but he probably didn't see it as a transaction. Taking care of you was his duty. You don't owe a man for doing what he's called to do."
< He's being stubborn. He helps me, I help him.>
She shrugged and laughed. "Men need to be stubborn sometimes. You pushed too hard, babe. He just needed an ear and a shoulder. Maybe if you'd given him that, it would have taught him to trust you, made him comfortable enough to be the right kind of vulnerable." She took my hand, squeezing it between hers. ~ Peter Styles

My 30 year attempt (and subsequent failure) to reach "normal" has brought me to ponder whether "normal" even exists, or if it is nothing more than delusional grandeur based in the sounds of those sweet sirens drawing my ship in all the wrong directions. ~ Dan Pearce

Guy between boyfriends #6 and #7
Paul Diaz, Twenty-Something
He was in her watercolor class, so cute and the sweet kind of shy. They obviously clicked, the attraction thrilling between them, inspiring her to relish the infatuation freshman-style and write his name in her notebook in curvy, flowery script. She gave him openings but guessed he was too timid to ask her out. The day after finals, she ran into him at the deli on campus and thought she had nothing to lose.
"My work is having this fancy dinner party next weekend, the food's supposed to be great. Would you like to go with me?"
"Oh, uh, maybe, I'll have to check," he said. Then, "What was your name again?"
There's always something to lose. ~ Shannon Hale

You took my heart and you held it in your mouth
And, with a word all my love came rushing out
And, every whisper, it's the worst, emptied out by a single word
There is a hollow in me now ...
And
Every whisper, every sigh
Eats away at this heart of mine
And there is a hollow in me now.
So I put my faith in something unknown
I'm living on such sweet nothing
But I'm trying to hope with nothing to hold
I'm living on such sweet nothing. ~ Florence Welch

Robert." It was a sigh and a call at the same time. She ignored the lump in her throat and called again.

In an instant, her view was obscured. "Lydia!"
They were eye-to-eye, and neither said anything for a moment or two.
Finally, after an audible gulp, Robert spoke in a whisper. "Are you all right?"
"I've had better days," she said in seriousness, and then realized the absurdity of her words and chuckled. "I'm covered in dirt, cuts, and bruises and sporting a lovely goose egg above my ear. One of my favorite gowns is nothing but a ruin, but other than that, I am fine. And now that you are here, I am better."
"Thank the Lord. I cannot tell you how relieved I am to hear you say so. I have been imagining all sorts … well, let's talk about this later."
"Yes, when we don't have to whisper through a wall."
"Indeed."
"So what is the plan?"
"Hmm … well, plans are a little lacking at this moment. I had expected to rush in and simply grab you, but there are three guards by the door. I procured a thick stick, but three to one … well, not good odds. My second idea was to loosen some of these boards and pull you out. I have also acquired a horse. So once out, we can sneak or run, whichever is the most prudent."
"Yes, but the getting-out part seems to be the problem. For, if I am not mistaken, none of the boards on this side of the barn are loose, and the other sides are too close to the villains."
"There does seem to be a decide ~ Cindy Anstey

I can't bury another friend."
"You won't."
"If anything ever happened to you, Rowan-"
"Don't" he breathed. "Don't even say it. We dealt with that enough the other night."
He lifted a hand - hesitated, and then brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen across her face. His callused fingers scrapped against her cheekbone, then caressed the shell of her ear.
It was foolish to even start down that road, when every other man she'd let in had left some wound, in one way or another, accidentally or not.
There was nothing tender in his face. Only a predator's glittering gaze. "When we get back," he said, "remind me to prove you wrong about every thought that just went through your head."
She lifted an eyebrow. "Oh?"
He gave her a sly smile that made thinking impossible. Exactly what he wanted - to distract her from the horrors of tomorrow. "I'll even let you decide how I tell you: with words"- his eyes flickered once to her mouth- "or with my teeth and tongue. ~ Sarah J. Maas

At my Grand Gala Ball of Coming Out, everyone will be required to wear a white dress, or else tuxedo tails and nothing else. A kiddie pool of sweet tea will be the dance floor as we wrestle with our complex identities because we all, every one of us, are complex, slippery, and tasty. We'll dance to bad eighties music as we lick and suck the excesses of multiple oppressions off one another. We'll all come out for what we are, and see ourselves in one another's body glitter. ~ Scott Turner Schofield

Ibn Rushd caressing her body had often praised its beauty to the point at which she grew irritated and said, You do not think my thoughts worth praising, then. He replied that the mind and body were one, the mind was the form of the human body, and as such was responsible for all the actions of the body, one of which was thought. To praise the body was to praise the mind that ruled it. Aristotle had said this and he agreed, and because of this it was hard for him, he whispered blasphemously in her ear, to believe that consciousness survived the body, for the mind was of the body and had no meaning without it. She did not want to argue with Aristotle and said nothing. Plato was different, he conceded. Plato thought the mind was trapped in the body like a bird and only when it could shed that cage would it soar and be free. ~ Salman Rushdie

Just when his lips are nothing more than a whisper away from mine, he turns his face slightly and grazes his cheek against my own. Leaning in farther, his stubble scratches against me until his nose rubs against my temple and his breath flutters against my ear. Shivers rack my body and my breath freezes in my lungs. "Will a kiss make it better for you, Kate?" he murmurs in my ear. ~ Anonymous

My words never last long. I have to destroy them before anyone sees them. But. I remember them all. For some reason, the act of writing them down makes me remember. Each word I write brings me closer to finding the right ones. And when I see Ky again, which I know will happen, I will whisper the words I have written in his ear, against his lips. and they will change from ash and nothing into flesh and blood. ~ Ally Condie

Do not define me by my gender or my socio-economic status, Noah Willis. Do not tell me who I am and do not tell me who society thinks I am and then put me in that box and expect me to stay there. Because, I swear to God, I will climb the hell out of that box and I will take that box you've just put me in and I will use that box to smash your face in until you're nothing more than a freckly, bloodied pulp. You got that, sweet cheeks? ~ Megan Jacobson

I'm not big on dark chocolate, but I do have a sweet tooth, so it gets me in trouble. I love warm chocolate chip cookies with ice cream. Then there's this chocolate pie my mom makes for me every year for my birthday. She's been making it since I was younger, and there's nothing like it. It's really so, so good! ~ Phillip Phillips

I put my faith in something unknown, beyond the moon, sun, and stars, one day I will own. I put my faith in something, renew. Beyond the rivers, deserts, mountains and valleys.One day it shall become new. I cannot renounce the struggle But yes, it's what this destiny holds The pain is worst. My heart is whole and will not burst.I live on sweet nothing.I am tired of hope, when this dream is not in the scope. I told the pope, he told me to hold on to life and use the rope.I put my faith in you, this is too good to be true. ~ Henry Johnson Jr

I learned regret in the ruins of Tarbfhlaith. I regretted that ambition had ruled my heart instead of affection for my kin. And with the lesson of regret came the gratitude for having life still to move my lips and limbs, and to speak kind words to and embrace those I may not see again on this sweet-smelling earth. I learned that I cannot wait to love what is in my presence, for it or I may well be gone tomorrow. To some, such as Giannon, this lesson poisons the heart with bitterness. But such bitterness has no value and is, in fact, cowardly. For bitterness risks nothing. ~ Kate Horsley

I . . . hurried to the city library to find out the true age of Chicago. City library! After all, it cannot be anything but Chicagoesque. His is the richest library, no doubt, as everything in Chicago is great in size and wealth. Its million books are filling all the shelves, as the dry goods fill the big stores. Oh, librarian, you furnished me a very good dinner, even ice cream, but - where is the table? The Chicago city library has no solemnly quiet, softly peaceful reading-room; you are like a god who made a perfect man and forgot to put in the soul; the books are worth nothing without having a sweet corner and plenty of time, as the man is nothing without soul. Throw those books away, if you don't have a perfect reading-room! Dinner is useless without a table. I want to read a book as a scholar, as I want to eat dinner as a gentleman. What difference is there, my dearest Chicago, between your honourable library and the great department store, an emporium where people buy things without a moment of selection, like a busy honey bee?
The library is situated in the most annoyingly noisy business quarter, under the overhanging smoke, in the nearest reach of the engine bells of the lakeside. One can hardly spend an hour in it if he be not a Chicagoan who was born without taste of the fresh air and blue sky. The heavy, oppressive, ill-smelling air of Chicago almost kills me sometimes. What a foolishness and absurdity of the city administrators to build the office of learnin ~ Yone Noguchi

Stay with us," Adrian said urgently. My own vision was blurred with tears. "A little longer. Spirit's coming back to me. I know it."
Declan stirred in Adrian's arms and began to cry again. Olive's eyes open a slit, and she smiled. "So sweet," she said softly. Her eyelids fell closed again, and all the tension went out of her body as she slumped forward.
"There," Adrian gasped out. "I've got it ... a spark of spirit ... enough to see auras ... "
I clutched his arm and felt tears running down my cheeks. "Adrian ... "
"The baby's is so bright," Adrian said. There were tears on his face now too. "Like a star. But in her ... there's nothing. No aura left to see ... ~ Richelle Mead

I think our last kiss was meant to be quick and chaste, but after the first touch of his lips fire leaped up and roared through my belly. My fingers yanked him close, digging into his back, and his arms crushed me to him as if wanting to meld us together. I knotted my fingers in his hair and bit down on his bottom lip, making him groan. His lips parted, and my tongue swept in to dance with his. There was nothing sweet or gentle in our last kiss; it was filled with sorrow and desperation, of the bitter knowledge that we could've had something perfect, but it just wasn't meant to be. ~ Julie Kagawa